


The Heart is For Hearing

by AnonEhouse



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Canon Divergence - Iron Man 1, Canonical Character Death, Happy Ending, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Sense Impaired Character, Soul Bond, Unpowered Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:25:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4177983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/AnonEhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers has always believed that someday he would find his soul mate. </p><p>Being deafened and stuck in a terrorist cave along with the annoying and standoffish Tony Stark wasn't exactly what he had in mind. </p><p>(Sex scene isn't very much, although it's enough I felt it needed the explicit tag.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart is For Hearing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nizah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nizah/gifts).



> The mind is for seeing, the heart is for hearing.: Arabic Proverb
> 
> (Originally posted June 21 for the ficathon. I've changed the publication date to July 3 because that was the day it went fully *public*. I'm hoping that makes it show up as recent in the sorted by publication search, so it will be seen by people who hadn't known about the ficathon, as well as the lovely folks who have subscribed to me as an author.)

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

"Never volunteer," was one of the first things the service taught Steve. When the drill sergeant asked for someone to drive the general's car, Steve didn't put up his hand with the rest of the greenies. The lucky men chosen from the volunteers spent the day going around the compound with wheelbarrows and shovels, tidying gravel paths. He didn't have the heart to tell his friends that he hadn't figured out the trick- it was just that as a New York City boy, he'd never learned to drive.

Covering that up meant that he'd put extra effort into learning not only how to drive, but how to drive any vehicle, and how to drive extremely well. He did everything as best he could, anyway. Someday he was going to find his soul mate, and they were gonna be proud of him. He grew up listening to his mother's stories about how she met his father and he just knew it would happen for him the same way. You get pushed, and you go with it. It would be nice if there were signs, like maybe your mate's name on your arm, or a symbol, anyway. Or a glowing red thread to follow. Or their voice in your mind. But nature isn't a thinking being, it doesn't have a plan. It's just... like gravity. You go where it feels right, and don't fight when the wind blows you, and sooner or later, you'll be drawn together.

It doesn't happen for everyone, of course. If it did, there wouldn't be a market for all the self-help books on soul mate finding, or all the sappy romance novels and movies where two people touch in a crowd and they know, but they're forced apart and all sorts of hijinks go on before they're reunited. Steve was sure it would happen for him, though. He knew it in his heart. It was what kept him going when he was a sickly kid, before Dr. Erskine's experimental genetic therapy had fixed his immunodeficiency.

He enlisted after his mother passed because it felt right. He obeyed orders when they made sense, and protected his squad when they didn't, until he grew heartily sick of sun and sand in Afghanistan. Steve had decided not to re-up, once his current tour was over. In the meantime, he did his best, and that included not bitching when he was assigned the dubious honor of driving Tony Stark back to base. His squad was all excited to be meeting someone famous. Steve wasn't.

He'd heard about Stark of course, who hadn't? The man had publicly declared he didn't believe in soul mates, which was ridiculous. He was promiscuous, and arrogant, a drunkard and a smartass, and basically spoiled rotten. He was barely in the humvee before Steve decided he didn't like Stark. His refusal to allow Colonel Rhodes to enter the vehicle was petty and childish. 

Steve kept his mouth shut and tried to concentrate on his driving and not on the banter coming from the back seats. The road was well used, smoothed by countless convoys of heavy vehicles, so it wasn't really enough of a distraction. He could hear the ice clink in Stark's glass of booze. Booze that the US soldiers weren't allowed in Iraq and Afghanistan, according to General Order No. 1. Not that it stopped them, but they didn't parade the stuff in public.

When Stark started getting huffy because no one was leaping up to entertain him, Steve finally spoke.

"You intimidate them, sir," he said, deliberately drawing attention to himself.

"Good God, you're gorgeous," Stark blurted. 

Steve wanted to be annoyed, but his mouth twitched. It was a bit funny.

Stark went on to say, "I'd apologize, but you have, actually, excellent bone structure, there. I'm kind of having a hard time not looking at you now. Is that weird?"

Steve couldn't blame Jimmy for snickering. Stark said, "Come on, it's okay, laugh."

He could have shut down the joking, but what harm did it do? Let Jimmy get his photo taken with the infamous Tony Stark. Steve was only half listening, as he was paying more attention to the road, looking out for rocks or stray goats. 

And then the humvee in front of them turned into a fireball. Chunks of metal fell on the hood of their own humvee. "INCOMING!" Steve shouted. The road was blocked, and he knew the armoring on the humvee was a joke. "CONTACT LEFT!" He wanted to roll out towards the enemy, but his gut told him not to be a hero. "Jimmy, get Stark!" They all piled out on the right side, but it didn't make a blind bit of difference as they were fired on a moment later, taking out Jimmy and Linda. What the hell, had the terrorists been hiding under the sand?

God damn it, and he was saddled with a panicky civilian yelling for someone to give him a gun. He'd probably wind up shooting Steve in the ass. "MOVE!" Steve shouted, firing to clear a path for Stark. "GET UNDER COVER!" 

Stark got the idea and ran clumsily through the sand, heading for a small group of boulders. Steve ran behind him, giving him as much protection as he could. Stark thumped down against the rocks, and immediately pulled out his cell phone. Steve hoped to God he was trying to call for back up. He was behind Stark, laying down a barrage of indiscriminate fire when he heard an incoming missile, close, very close. He turned...

 

His ears were buzzing, a monotonous, annoying, high-pitched tone, like manic summer crickets. Steve opened his eyes and blinked, turning his head to take in his surroundings. His head hurt like a son of a gun, and there were aches and stinging sharp twinges even at that slight movement, but he dismissed all that as unimportant. This... this was a cave, a rock-walled, rough floored chamber, cluttered with makeshift furniture. He was lying on a cot, too narrow for comfort and unpadded. Hell. He'd been captured and brought to one of the terrorists' hidden bases. His mouth went dry. He didn't know why they hadn't killed him, but he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like the reason. They never tried to trade captives. They had some use for him. He clamped down on his imagination. No point in it. He pushed himself into a sitting position, took a deep breath, and then got up.

He turned around, slowly, checking out what he could see. The cave was dimly lit, so he couldn't make out the full extent of it. There was another cot nearby. Someone was lying on it, half obscured by the man standing over it, facing Steve. The man was balding, had a neat, graying beard, and wore a pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses over mild eyes whose color he couldn't quite make out. He didn't look like your picture postcard terrorist. The man's mouth was moving, but Steve couldn't hear him. The buzzing still hadn't stopped.

"I can't," Steve said, before he realized he couldn't hear _himself_. He couldn't hear _anything_. Just that buzzing. He swallowed. Probably it was just temporary. He'd been close to the bomb when it went off. That's all it was. "I don't know if you speak English," he said, at least he felt himself making the effort to talk. "But if you're here to interrogate me, it's gonna be hard. I can't hear you."

The man frowned, and then he turned and rummaged through one of the rough tables set around the cave. When he moved, Steve could see the face of the man on the bed. It was Stark, unconscious and with a tube up his nose, and bandages on his chest. It was ridiculous how pleased Steve was to see him. It wasn't as if Stark was one of his own people, or was likely to be any use. The last thing a prisoner of war needed was a drunkard clown for a roommate.

The balding man came over to Steve with a piece of paper in his hand. He held it up, near a light. It read, "I'm a doctor. May I examine you?"

Steve appreciated the courtesy, and really, what harm could it do? He shrugged and let the man guide him over towards the light. The man had a gentle touch as he turned Steve's head, peering closely, ruffling his hair and running fingers over his scalp. Then he tapped Steve on the shoulder and went back to the table and wrote more. This time the paper read, "I can see no external damage. Perhaps it is only temporary."

Steve nodded. He sat back down on his cot. He was full of questions, but not ready to ask them. His head still hurt.

 

The next time Steve woke, he was feeling better, but that staticky noise was still all he could hear. The doctor was doing something over by Stark. Steve got up, and was pleased that his legs weren't shaky. He went over to Stark's cot, and frowned. Why was there a car battery hooked up to the bandages covering Stark's chest? The doctor looked up at Steve, and Steve could see his lips moving. He shook his head. "Still can't hear you. What's wrong with him?" On the off chance they didn't know who they'd caught, Steve wasn't going to say Stark's name.

"Shrapnel, near his heart," the doctor wrote. Steve felt an unpleasant icy twinge in his guts. "I removed what I could, but the remainder will migrate to his atrial septum, causing total heart failure eventually."

"How long?" Steve asked and then had to wait impatiently while the doctor wrote.

"Normally, about a week. I have implanted an electromagnet to stabilize the shards, so it will probably be the Ten Rings that will kill him first."

Steve's expression must have shown his question.

"I am also a prisoner," the doctor wrote. "I will do what I can to help you, but it won't be much." He waited a moment for Steve's reaction, then went over to do something among the medical supplies. 

Steve moved closer to look at Stark, to assess the situation. The best time to escape was always as soon as possible after capture. Steve had already lost the best chances by his body's weakness, and now... well, even if Stark woke up and was mobile, having to drag along a forty pound car battery would be a definite hindrance. He'd have to factor that in, somehow, along with his deafness, which wasn't showing any signs of improvement. He walked around the cave, slowly, noting the big, solid door and the monitoring cameras and taking them as positive signs. They would make their captors feel more confident, and would allow them more freedom inside their confined area. He poked around the rubbish and assorted small luxuries that spoke of a long captivity, if the doctor was telling the truth. And why should he lie? It wasn't as if they'd expect a common soldier to know any secrets that he could be tricked into revealing.

But Stark. Stark was another matter. He would be easy prey, in pain, probably drugged, without any military training, or even the self-restraint of your average hard-working citizen who'd learned when to keep his mouth shut in order to keep his job. Stark would talk, wouldn't he? And he knew things that the terrorists could use, didn't he? Steve should hope the man died now, in his sleep. It would be better for all of them. 

He should hope that, but he couldn't. 

 

A day later, at least Steve judged it as a day, going by how hungry he was, the door opened. Steve wasn't looking in that direction, but he saw the doctor get hurriedly to his feet and put his hands on his head. He nodded vigorously at Steve, and tried to tell him something. Before Steve could get up from his cot, a blow struck his shoulders and he was knocked to the floor. He rolled over onto his back, fists up and prepared to fight for his life. A gun, one of the new Stark-issues, prodded him in the chest, and he froze. The man holding it was wild-eyed, his face contorted in anger as he shouted something that Steve doubted he could understand even if he could hear it. He poked Steve in the chest again, and then turned towards the doctor. 

The doctor was talking very fast. He brought one hand down from his head and touched his ear. The terrorist turned to look at Steve again. He kicked Steve in the leg, but not really hard, and then he turned and left.

Steve watched him go. There were other armed men outside the open door. He couldn't see much before the heavy door slammed shut (he could actually feel the vibrations), just a dim cave, with a string of lights fastened up high. He was frustrated by his inability to gain any information. To escape he'd need to know exactly what was out there. He should take advantage of the one potentially non-hostile source of information available. He got up and looked at the doctor. "My name is Steve Rogers."

The doctor looked faintly amused. He picked up the note pad they'd been using and wrote, "Ho Yinsen." He went over to a sack, lying in front of the door, that hadn't been there earlier. Printed in English it said it was a bag of rice from the US, 'Not to be sold'. Great, Stark's weapons armed the terrorists, and the US fed them. At this point he wouldn't be surprised if some of them had been trained by the US military. 

 

They needed a better method of communication than writing, but Steve didn't have time to learn to lip-read. He and Yinsen worked out a few simple hand signals for things like 'someone's coming' and 'do what I do'. And then Stark woke, flailed around, ripped off his bandages and in general acted totally bewildered. Spoiled all his life, he probably had never been really hurt, never thought anything bad would ever happen to him. The man had no resources to handle the situation.

Steve couldn't do much but stay out of the way as Stark got over his panic. He felt an urge to comfort the man, but his instinctive move towards him just seemed to make matters worse, with Stark jerking away before he could touch him. Yinsen spoke to Stark, and he could almost swear he felt Stark's guilt when Yinsen touched his ear and indicated Steve. Well, he _should_ feel guilty, Steve thought, before reminding himself that just because he didn't like Stark didn't mean he was responsible for the terrorists' actions. 

Stark was still visibly shaken a few minutes later when Yinsen signaled 'someone's coming' and put his hands on his head. Steve followed suit immediately. Stark just stood there, hands down at his sides, even after Yinsen spoke urgently to him. Steve would have grabbed him, would have, but again Stark flinched away from him. Before he could get the idiot to understand they weren't playing games, the door opened and a flood of armed men came in. It was obviously a power play, because they were packed so close they'd kill their own people if they opened fire.

Steve stood a little in front of Stark, with his hands on top of his head, trying to hide Stark, give him a few seconds to catch on. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Yinsen talking, speaking in the pauses between the terrorist leader, apparently translating for Stark's benefit. One of the terrorists waved a gun at Steve and jerked his chin, indicating that Steve should move. Reluctantly, he obeyed, leaving Stark exposed to their scrutiny.

Stark was finally standing in the approved captive pose, but his eyes were wide, and shining with panic. He spoke, briefly, and shook his head. The terrorist leader was not happy, not happy at all. He pointed at Stark.

In an act of sheer stupidity that embarrassed him even as he did it, Steve jumped in front of Stark and held up his fists. He had no idea why the hell he'd done it, beyond, you know, protect the civilian. "No!" he shouted. He was surprised when Stark scrambled around in front of him and waved his arms. That was the fastest he'd seen the man move.

Every gun in the room was aimed at them. This... this was not going to end well.

There was a lot of silent yelling, well, silent past the never-ending buzz that Steve mostly tuned out. Then the leader said something, and a group of the men at the front of the crowd came forward and grabbed Steve's arms. He could have gone for their guns, should have, but that would be pointless suicide. 

They pulled him forward and out of the corner of his eye he saw them take hold of Stark, too, and put a grimy cloth bag over his head. Steve panicked when they put a sack on his own head a second later. He shouted, "NO!" totally disoriented for a moment, until he realized he could see a haze of light, and dim shapes through the coarse weave. Hands tightened on him and he was dragged forward, stumbling over the uneven floor of the cave. He kept turning his head, but he couldn't tell if Stark was with him or not. Were they being taken out to be shot?

He stumbled along, stretching his remaining senses as best he could, trying to memorize the number of steps, the turnings, even what he could smell. The temperature didn't change, it stayed as cool as ever. It meant they weren't heading outside to the desert heat where a body could be disposed of without messing up their nice, clean cave. He didn't know whether that was a good sign or not. No, scratch that, there weren't any good signs.

Steve nearly lost his footing several times before he was dragged to a halt. Someone kicked him behind the knees, while he was still held by the arms. He had no choice but to kneel, feeling the sharp stone cutting into his knees right through the tough material of his trousers. He swallowed hard, but kept his head up and his breathing steady. If they were gonna shoot him or chop off his head he couldn't stop them, but by God, he could show them he wasn't afraid. 

The bag was ripped off his head, letting in light and more smells; mostly oil, rust, and mildew. Back in the day, just a whiff would have had him wheezing up a lung. He blinked rapidly, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the light faster. There were men around, not as many as before, but still far too many to dream of fighting. He turned his head and saw Stark standing, holding the car battery in his arms. He was held off to one side by more men; his hair sticking up in a way that made him look like a startled cat. Yinsen was nowhere within Steve's sight, not that he could see much. There were men, and there were crude tables, and barrels and crates. He couldn't see clearly what was on the tables, just machinery of some sort, and boxes of tools. The leader came close to Steve and pulled on his hair, shouting and waving his arms. The men holding Stark dragged him around until he was directly facing Steve, but not close.

Steve really, really didn't like the look of this. There was more silent yelling, and poking of Steve. Stark looked pale, and his eyes were wide, wide open, but he didn't speak. He just shook his head. Steve could see the pulse beating rapidly in his throat. "Good man!" Steve shouted. He couldn't hear himself, but he could see Stark's reaction. "Don't give them anything, Stark!" Stark blinked once and then nodded, jerkily.

And then, of course, they started beating on Steve. Made sense. He was an example. They needed Yinsen because he was a doctor, and Stark's physical condition would limit what they could do without killing him, but Steve? He was just a canvas to be painted in blood to impress Stark. Steve tried to fight back at first. They used fists, and feet, and the occasional blunt object, hitting him over and over and over again, but never hard enough to kill, not hard enough to break bones, even. This was just softening him up. "I can do this all day!" he shouted, and they hit him in the gut, so he hadn't breath to speak, but whenever he could he glared at Stark, willing him to keep his mouth shut. 

Stark was talking, which was the last God damn thing Steve wanted him to do, but whatever he said, it wasn't what they wanted, so, ok, fine. They moved on to more subtle stuff, once he'd had enough of the stuffing knocked out that he couldn't fight back. He didn't watch them, didn't. They used things that pinched, and cut, and sharp wires with electric shocks that made him bite his tongue. He spat out the blood and kept his gaze locked with Stark's, willing him not to break.

Then he smelled hot, hot, burning, like diesel fuel and smoke. Someone put a boot down on his head, holding him down where he couldn't look at Stark. They were all over him, holding him down. And there was a coal, burning hot orange, grasped in metal tongs, moving towards his face, towards his eyes. He swallowed hard. Dying. Dying he could take. He was a soldier, you signed up and knew that was maybe in the cards for you. But living, blind and deaf, isolated and vulnerable? He knew what being an invalid felt like, the pity, and the scorn, and the people who treated you different, lesser. That was his particular horror, and he couldn't help being terrified. He did manage not to cry out, not to beg for mercy, not to ask Stark to give in. No. He wouldn't.

He couldn't help closing his eyes, even though he knew it would do no good. The heat was... suddenly gone, and he was being dragged up to his feet. Stark looked at him, and then away, as if he was ashamed. "NO!" Steve forced out through his raw throat. "Don't you do it, Stark!" The dirty bag went on his head, and he was dragged back along seemingly endless corridors, too angry to note anything about the journey until he was thrust to the ground and the hands holding him were gone.

The bag came off his head, and he looked around. Yinsen was holding the bag, and Stark was a few feet away, staring at him. "Home, sweet home," he said, trying to get as much venom into the words as possible. "Stark." He coughed, and waved away the mug of water Yinsen offered him. "What did you do?"

Stark scowled, and then found paper to write. "Saved your life."

"No. No, you didn't. They're..."

Stark had been writing rapidly. He waved the paper in front of Steve. "SHUT UP. I have a plan." He wrote more. "I told them I need an assistant. Work with me."

 

It was a ridiculous plan. Steve couldn't see it working in a million years. The sketches were gorgeous and the artist in Steve admired the concept, the sheer imagination of it, but there were holes in the plan big enough to drive a tank through. However, it had one redeeming feature. If it worked at all, they'd die fighting, and without giving the Ten Rings anything they could use against America.

Well, all right, it had two redeeming features. Stark was awfully pretty when he was working and since Steve couldn't hear him, it was harder for him to remember what an ass he was. Maybe Steve had gone too long without leave, but he found himself admiring the man from a purely esthetic point of view. He'd always liked well muscled brunets, particularly ones with big, brown eyes. Sometimes he found himself waking on his cot, hard and aching, with fading dreams of Stark, of Stark willing and enthusiastic. In his dreams he could hear Stark, voice all low and rough, as rough as his hands tracing over Steve's body in all the best ways. When they were awake, Stark wouldn't let Steve so much as hand him a mug of tea and nearly tripped over himself trying to get away if Steve happened to forget. He hadn't even let Steve help hold him still when Yinsen installed the new gadget in his chest.

Steve would have pressed the issue, because hell, he might NEED to touch Stark if this plan was going to happen at all, but the fear in Stark's eyes was real, however irrational. The Ten Rings were pushing and threatening and, Steve reminded himself, Stark was a civilian. That he'd held up this long without snapping was surprising. Having a fixed neurosis centered on Steve was maybe helping him cope. Whatever. Steve wasn't a psychiatrist. He just knew what a man on the thin edge looked like, and he wasn't going to push Stark over.

Yinsen stayed cool and collected, but Steve got the general impression that was because he didn't give a damn anymore. He had no idea what had happened to the doctor before they arrived, but he could guess it hadn't been a picnic in the park. 

They were working hard on the armor, with Steve providing much of the brute strength, Tony... damn it, Stark, Stark, Stark, had the plans and expertise, while Yinsen had steady hands and a surgeon's dexterity. It was coming along well, and maybe they were getting a little careless because they'd been ignored for weeks, bar the occasional delivery of supplies. 

Steve was hauling a tank of fuel when a pencil hit him in the shoulder. He looked up, annoyed. Tony. **Stark** liked to get his attention with small missiles, rather than tap him the way Yinsen did. "Stark..." Steve shut his mouth, put down the tank and placed his hands on his head when he saw the man standing at the head of the armed crowd who'd come into their cave. It was the true leader, Raza, not the underling who'd bossed them around and overseen Steve's torture. Raza had come into their cell-cave only once, to make sure Stark had everything he said he'd need to build the Jericho missile.

Now he was angry. Steve had been trying to learn lip-reading, but at best he only got about a third of what Stark and Yinsen said. Raza was probably speaking English, but all Steve could make out was a few scattered bits that he couldn't assemble into any sense. The anger was obvious, though. Tony. Stark. Stark was saying something, babbling, it looked like. Yinsen was talking, calmly, repeating the same thing over and over, until Steve could patch bits together. "We are working hard. We are milking the dairy cow" no, that must be 'building the Jericho'. Raza shouted and Yinsen was forced down to his knees.

And then, Raza shot Yinsen. "NO!" Steve yelled, and would have run forward, even if it got him shot, but hands were grabbing and holding him. Raza shouted something in Tony's direction, and then waved at Yinsen. Tony went to Yinsen and pulled him over onto his back. There was so much blood, but Yinsen was still alive. He smiled at Tony and said something before his head fell back and his eyes went blank. Steve was shoved onto the ground, with a boot in the middle of his back. When the pressure released, he jumped to his feet, but there was nothing he could do. The last of the terrorists was leaving the chamber, but several others stood at the door, with their guns aimed at him. The door shut.

Tony laid Yinsen's head gently on the ground and stood up. He wiped his bloody hands off on his trousers and walked over to one of the work tables. Steve knelt by Yinsen, checking for any sign of life. He sighed, and closed Yinsen's eyes, then bowed his head and said a silent prayer for his soul. He regretted not having asked Yinsen his religion, but he was sure whatever God he followed would accept him. He'd been a good man.

Steve stood up and went over to Tony who was scribbling furiously on scraps of paper. He read, "Raza wants the Jericho by tomorrow. We have to work fast." Then Tony looked up at Steve. 

Steve nodded. The half-baked plan was go. He had to know one thing, though. "What did Yinsen say?"

Tony blinked, then he looked down and wrote again. He shoved the paper across the table towards Steve.

"His family is dead," Steve read. "He never meant to escape with us."

 

They hadn't been anywhere near ready. The two of them worked seamlessly, switching places at the anvil and forge without a wasted instant as they pounded out the last pieces of the armor. Tony had meant to make some unpowered protection for Steve and Yinsen, in addition to the arc reactor powered suit he'd wear, but there wasn't time. Instead he hammered a piece of metal into a rough shield while Steve set up a trap at the door, in case they hadn't time to finish. There wasn't even time to do anything for Yinsen beyond wrap him in blankets and place him out of the way.

It was adrenalin, and the thought that this might be his last few hours, that kept Steve snatching glances at Tony. He was really very beautiful when he was focused on his work, graceful and powerful, like a dancer. Steve's chest felt hot and tight watching him. 

Tony still wouldn't let Steve touch him, which made getting the armor on more awkward than it had to be. Finally, in exasperation, Steve asked, "Why are you afraid of me?" Tony's mouth moved, but Steve couldn't make out what he said. It was probably bull, anyway. He turned back to the computer and set the initiation program running, then he picked up his shield by the leather straps hastily riveted to the inside, and moved back to where he could watch Tony and the door at the same time. "Yell if you hear them coming," he said. 

Tony nodded, and for once, kept his gaze on Steve. It felt good, in a weird way, like Tony was finally acknowledging that Steve was on his side, trying to protect him. Steve saw Tony's eyes widen an instant before his mouth moved. Steve couldn't make a out a single word, but he didn't need to. He glanced at the computer, at the progress bar, and then gripped his shield tighter. If the Ten Rings tried to open the door...

The trap went off, blowing the doors wide open. "Huh, that worked," he said, just to annoy Tony who'd designed it. He glanced back at the progress bar, and then at Tony who was pinned immobile in the suit, helpless until it finished charging, or whatever it was doing. "I'm gonna go clear us a path." Tony was shouting, but for once Steve was glad he couldn't hear it. The dead guards had machine guns. He took both of them and slung one over his shoulder, settled his shield firmly over his left arm and hefted the other machine gun in his right hand. His heart was racing a mile a minute. 

There was no point being subtle after that bomb, but he was a bit pissed that airmen didn't have a battle cry. He sure wasn't going to borrow from the Marines. Oh, well, "Yippee ki-yay, motherfuckers!" he roared, feeling it in his chest as he ran down the corridors, down the route Yinsen had made him and Tony memorize. He shot at everything that moved, driving them away from Tony, and kept yelling, hoping Tony would hear him and know he wasn't dead yet. He kept going until he reached the cave exit, and then dived behind some sacks of US donated rice to wait for Tony. The skin on the back of his neck itched. He kept imagining someone was sneaking up on him. A herd of elephants, trumpeting, could sneak up on him. He kept sweeping the area, trying to see everywhere without showing himself. He had to keep the exit clear for Tony.

Something moved in the dimness near the cave opening. Raza strode out, and stood there, arrogance in every inch of his stance. He was holding a missile launcher, and his mouth moved in one of the few words Steve always managed to decipher. "STARK!" Raza shouted, just before Steve leaped up and unloaded an excessive number of rounds into his body. Then he turned. Tony was in the armor, standing with his legs spread to better take the weight. Tony took the helmet off and said something, urgent, from his expression.

"We don't have time for notes," Steve said. He went over to Raza's corpse and checked that the missile launcher was armed and looked in good shape. "Once I fire this, you come out and take care of their ammo dump. While they're distracted I'll boost a truck." He looked back at Tony then. "I can't hear you, so you can't persuade me." The original plan had gaping holes a mile wide, but Steve hadn't argued because he hadn't thought they'd even get this far. He grinned at Tony who was now waving his arms and yelling. "Sorry, can't hear a thing you say." 

He turned and braced himself, checking that Tony wasn't in line of the back blast, and fired the missile launcher out of the cave along the narrow space between munitions dumps. He dropped it, picked up the shield and both of the machine guns, and then followed the missile out of the cave at a dead run. Tony would be slow in the suit; he couldn't possibly stop Steve. He didn't waste any more breath shouting, but just kept firing and running, running in dead silence and remembering one thing his father had told him when he was little more than a baby, 'A good soldier never looks behind'. He kept going and a few seconds later there was the stink of burning fuel, and a hot wind at his back. Tony's flamethrowers were working. Terrorists were running, disorganized, some of them fighting, some of them running from the fire, some of them shooting at him, and this was the way to die, full out and running free.

The place was a stirred up ants' nest, with flames shooting everywhere. The smell of chemicals and hot fuel was a choking cloud. There was more hot wind, he was running through curtains of flame, smoke everywhere, running bodies, and hell if he and Tony weren't an army in themselves. His gun clicked empty, and he threw it at another screaming man, followed up by smashing him with the shield, which was a pretty sad and tattered thing now, but it had held up to small arms fire better than he'd expected. He threw it at one last man before switching to his other machine gun. The trucks were ahead of him. Some of them were already burning. They'd been parked stupidly close to crates of weapons, but none of the terrorists were trying to move them. They were either running away, or they were running towards Tony. Steve felt like going back for Tony, but that was a stupid, stupid idea. Get the truck, get it hot-wired, get the hell out. The armor could fly, Tony had said. Steve wanted to believe it. He gunned the truck's engine and took off. He was probably not a very good soldier, because he looked back at the last second, leaning out of the door for a quick glance at the inferno and the devils burning in it, and then, then, there it was, a fiery angel heading for the heavens. Steve laughed, and floored the accelerator. 

 

After a few miles, Steve turned the truck in a large circle, expecting pursuit. There wasn't any, but there was a hellacious huge cloud of smoke which he admired with satisfaction. He made a guess as to where Tony had landing, judging by the small portion of the arc he'd seen. He didn't know where he was, or had any idea where the nearest US base might be, but he felt sure he could find Tony. He ignored the logical part of his mind that said Tony would have died on impact after a fall from that height. He wouldn't believe it until he saw it. Tony was a tough little bastard.

The truck sputtered to a stop around half an hour later. Out of gas. "Damn it." Steve hit his hand on the steering wheel and then he got out and looked around. Sand. Some hills with scrub in the distance. And the mountain range he'd just left. "Swell." There wasn't much point in cursing if you couldn't hear it. He checked out the back of the truck. It was full of bags of US rice, nothing but bags of rice. Just what he needed. He tore up one bag to make a sloppy sunshade for his head, and debated whether or not to bring the machine gun, before deciding that it wasn't worth the added weight. It was nearly empty.

He turned his back on the truck, took his bearings from the sun, and started walking. Just as well he dumped the truck, he tried to convince himself. If the terrorists found it, they'd kill him. If a US air reconnoissance passed overhead, they'd probably blast it. He was better off on his own two feet.

He lost track of time. The sand pulled at his legs with each step. The sun burned through his shirt. Heat devils danced in the distance mocking him with the illusion of shimmering water. He kept walking. Sand worked its way into his boots; sweat formed and dried into itchy lines of salt. He kept walking, after a while numb and barely thinking beyond the need to keep moving. 

A gust of wind came, and the sand whipped up around him. He lowered his head, wrapping the rice cloth closer and kept walking. He made only a few more steps before someone grabbed him and he staggered around, trying to keep his footing. He was surrounded by men with guns. American men with guns he realized, belatedly noting the uniforms and the grounded helicopter behind them. One of the men, a dark-skinned lieutenant colonel, even looked familiar. He heaved out a relieved breath and raised his empty hands. "Glad to see you." He shook his head when the man who looked naggingly familiar spoke to him. "Can't hear you. I'm deaf." He blinked a few times. "Got to find Tony."

"Stark?" the colonel grabbed Steve by the shoulders and spoke clearly enough for Steve to read his lips. His tired brain clicked. This was Colonel Rhodes, the man who should have been riding in the humvee with Tony. 

"Yes!" Steve nodded. "We escaped, but got separated. He's out there." He pointed in the direction that his gut told him was right. "Tony's there. Find him."

Rhodes nodded. They went back to the helicopter, where Rhodes gave Steve a bottle of water. He gulped it down and smiled. "That way," he said and pointed again. He shook his head when they offered him earphones, and just kept looking. They flew for a few minutes. "THERE!" Steve grabbed at the pilot's chair and stabbed a finger down at the dark speck struggling to crest the rise of a sand dune.

They landed and Rhodes pushed him back when he tried to get out. Yeah, right, protocol, assess and make sure it's not a trap. Fine. Steve was tired. He watched them run, guns aimed at the slumped figure kneeling in the sand. He watched Rhodes go to his knees, and hug Tony who hugged back. Steve wasn't jealous, he wasn't. They slogged back to the 'copter and Tony gave Steve a big grin, but somehow Rhodes wound up sitting between them. He gave Steve an apologetic look and mouthed, "Sorry, man" clear enough for Steve to understand that Tony's 'no-touch Steve' rule was still in effect. Tony was weird. Weird, but alive. Steve leaned against the door and dozed off. They were alive.

 

A hot shower with Army soap was heaven. Steve didn't care that the uniform they gave him was too small; it was clean, and didn't stink of cave mildew or blood. He held off asking about Tony until after the doctors had looked him over, and patched up what they could. Mostly he had a few cuts and scrapes, and a hot pink sunburn on his back where the rice cloth hadn't given enough coverage. One of them brought a laptop and typed messages before they did anything, which Steve appreciated. He was jumpy when anyone was at his back. 

"Still nervy," he said, "Sorry," when he elbowed a nurse in the belly. The man accepted his apology, but kept a wary distance after that. Steve had always kept himself in top shape, but now he was even more ripped as a natural result of hammering metal for hours a day, for three months. He'd have to watch his strength. An idle thought that he'd be careful with Tony, if Tony ever let him shake hands, reminded him that he'd been patient long enough, he could ask now without sounding weird. "How is Mr. Stark doing?"

"Patient confidentiality..." Steve saw that much before he frowned and waved his hand. "Fine. But if he asks about me, you can tell him anything. I don't care." Not that there was much to tell. The doctors said they couldn't find anything wrong with his ears, or his head, and they tried to convince him his deafness was psychosomatic. Yeah, sure. That's what Steve's doctors had said at first, when he was a sickly kid. They said he was just trying to get attention from his mom. Who did they think he was trying to get to baby him now, Stark? What a laugh.

"Hey, how about a burger? I could go for a cheeseburger, now," Steve said. He knew Bagram Air Field had a Burger King. Unfortunately, they weren't at Bagram. They brought him MREs, which really weren't so bad in comparison with rice, weak tea, and more rice. He tucked away four of the meals, including the candy. He didn't care about the Marine superstition that eating the 'Charms' would make it rain. He was in the desert, he'd like to see a cloud show its face. 

He ran out of things to do. The doctors had finished prodding him and left him to his own devices. He wasn't hungry, he wasn't sleepy, and he wasn't interested in playing solitaire. They'd left the laptop with him, along with a few DVDs, but none of them had closed captioning, and he couldn't follow along with the plot. He wasn't in the mood for frivolity, anyway. He felt restless and keyed up, but he worked to keep an external cool. Bad enough he was going to be discharged on disability. If he annoyed them enough, the nice doctor who'd put down 'total deafness, cause unknown' could make him sound like a nut case. He wasn't crazy. They just... weren't specialists. Yeah, that was it. He'd go home and go to the V.A. and... shit, the V.A. Yeah, he'd heard horror stories about the treatment of vets. He mulled over his options. He wasn't going to be kicked around and ignored, but he had to play it smart.

The light flickered, catching his attention. Steve glanced up and was on his feet without thinking about it, letting the laptop crash to the floor. Stark. Stark was standing in the doorway, his hand on the light switch. He'd been cleaned up, like Steve, given a set of BDUs and had his right arm in a sling. He'd even got his beard trimmed. Steve didn't know what to say, so he just stood there, drinking in the sight of Tony, alive, and looking pretty good, all things considered.

Tony looked at Steve and then reached into his sling to pull out a notepad. He scrunched up his face, and opened his mouth, but then shut it without forming any words Steve could decipher. He shrugged, put the pad on a table and walked out.

Steve could say it a million times. Tony Stark was weird. He went over to the table and picked up the notepad. "Sorry. Come look me up. Cheeseburgers on me." And there was an address in California, along with a phone number and a Starkindustries.com email. Steve hesitated for a long moment before he folded up the paper and put it into his pocket.

 

Steve tried the V.A. when he got back, and while they didn't jerk him around, the results all came back the same: 'We don't know the cause, and we can't restore your hearing.' He'd 'talked' to fellow vets and found they were all pissed off at Tony Stark for shutting down weapons manufacturing. He was pretty angry about that too, and finally decided he'd take Tony up on his offer, so he could try to talk him out of it. Sure, someone had screwed up big time, for the Ten Rings to have so much Stark weaponry, but taking your ball and going home was a child's reaction.

Showing up unannounced on a billionaire's doorstep seemed like a bad idea. Tony probably had minions and butlers and hell, handmaidens, everywhere, making a buffer between him and the outside world. Telephoning would be a logistical nightmare, even if he could afford a phone or computer that supported video calling, so Steve sent an email on his cheap used laptop. The screen flickered to signal a reply only a few minutes later.

"Hey, Captain, good to hear from you. Can you hear from me?"

Trust Tony to be brutally direct. "Sorry, you'll have to speak up," he typed. 

"HOW'S THIS?"

Steve huffed a short laugh before he typed. "Don't shout, it's rude. Hey, is the invitation to visit still good?"

"Mi casa es su casa, Cap. Want me to send a jet? It's just sitting on the tarmac, getting dusty."

Steve blinked. "I can't tell when you're joking, sometimes, Stark."

"No joke. I flew commercial once. I still have nightmares."

Steve hesitated. He didn't want to take charity, but he didn't want to ruffle Stark's feathers by refusing. "I'm a big boy," he replied.

"Exactly! Have you seen the latest seating charts? You need leg room. Shoulder room. Think of the other passengers! You owe it to them not to steal their precious breathing space."

Steve rolled his eyes and was glad this wasn't a video call. "All right, you win." They made the arrangements for Steve to meet the jet at the nearest airport three days later. 

 

When Steve stepped out of the taxi an exceptionally pretty girl holding a 'Captain Steve' sign met him. She was wearing a Stark Industries t-shirt, and a big, friendly grin. Steve got his bag and paid the driver before turning to face the girl. "Tony sent you? Of course he did."

The girl nodded and gestured towards the airport entrance. Then she took Steve's arm, making it look as if he was guiding her. No one gave him a second look. They went to a private lounge where the girl finally released him and stood in front of him where he could easily see her face. She spoke very clearly, but naturally, not with the exaggeration some people used once they learned he was deaf, to ask him what in flight meals he wished to choose while the plane was awaiting takeoff clearance. She handed him a menu. An honest to god printed menu. He made his selections, and she noted them on a computer that made his look like an antique before wishing him a good day and leaving him to the meager resources of a fully stocked bar (with beautiful bartender), private bathroom (with shower and _tub_ ), miniature movie theater, and couches bigger, and more comfortable, than his bed. He didn't know how quick the jet could be ready, and he sure wasn't going to make them wait on him, so he just washed his face and hands, and munched on some of the fresh fruit set out along with assorted bar snacks. Steve thought he ought to be annoyed by the excess, but it didn't really seem that Tony was trying to impress him, this was just how the man lived. It was a whole other world. 

 

The flight was smooth and the flight attendants unobtrusive. Steve stretched out in his seat after the first 'snack', which was larger than the in-flight meal he'd had on his last commercial flight, and dozed off. He felt really comfortable, not just physically. It felt right. This was a good thing, going to see Tony, a very good thing. 

 

"Call me Happy," the man who met the jet by driving a limo out onto the tarmac told Steve. He smiled and pointed to his face to make his meaning clear. Then he handed Steve a shiny laptop, similar to the one the girl at the airport had. It bore a Stark swoosh on top, of course it did. There was a post-it on top that read, "Open me! Happy has one linked to this. Speech to text in real time is enabled."

Steve shouldn't be surprised. "Thanks," he said and got into the limo. Wet bar and more snacks. The little kid in him who'd seen his mom scrape the peanut butter jar with a cracker to get the last spoonful felt righteous indignation at the excess. The little kid in him who loved treats went 'Ooh, dried papaya'. What the hell, he wasn't going to insult his host's hospitality. Steve settled back and opened the laptop. He typed, "How are you doing, Happy?" because while he could talk, he had a suspicion he didn't always have the volume control set right. He'd seen people wince a few times, and he didn't want to startle the driver.

A second later words scrolled across the screen, "Great, Captain Rogers. It's a beautiful day for a drive."

And it was, especially compared to the gray weather he'd left behind a continent away. Steve was a Brooklyn kid, through and through, and loved his city, but the scenery couldn't compare. They kept up an idle chat for most of the drive, getting away from the city surrounding the airport, and then along winding mountain roads until finally they stopped in front of a house that looked like it had been designed by aliens, or maybe a maker of tin pie plates. There was a helipad to the left, Happy informed him, which they could have used, but Tony had thought Steve might like the ride to unwind. 

Intellectually, Steve knew Tony was rich, but still, in the back of his mind he'd thought of a mansion as, you know, just a really big house, surrounded by gardens and maybe with Great Danes striding majestically through the lawns and tennis courts. This was all swoops and acres of floor to ceiling windows. Steve had a momentary vision of a skinny kid playing stickball driving a pop fly through about ten thousand dollars worth of glass. And who was going to clean it? You'd need a warehouse size bottle of Windex.

Happy dropped Steve off at the front while Steve was still trying to decide whether it was the most beautiful, or the ugliest, house he'd ever seen. It was a toss-up. Steve looked around for a bell or knocker or even something recognizably a door. "Hello?" he tried tentatively. A piece of glass lit up, and a wide space opened. Steve stepped into a huge open room with hardly any furniture, unless you included smoothed boulders and a two story high water feature running in twisting streams down a sheet of glass. There were a few small, low tables, some of which held abstract metal sculptures and sprays of orchids. He went in further and still he didn't see any people, no butlers, no maids, not so much as a kid to take his hat and coat, if he had a hat and coat. There was a raised platform dividing the area into another room. This had a bar set against one wall, and a grand piano nearby. There was also a fireplace set in a pillar. Steve wondered if it ever got used, or was it all just for show? The place looked like it was meant to host ritzy parties, the kind where you stood around and ate tiny food and got drunk on fancy wine. A hotel rather than a home. "Anyone home?" Steve went over to the piano and saw the first homely things, a pair of guitars leaning against the wall. He walked over to the far window. The view was breathtaking. It was like he owned the whole world, with the ocean spread out before him. 

The window lit up. Blue letters appeared. "Hey, Steve. How was the flight?"

Steve turned. Tony was standing behind him, hipshot and cocksure, beard meticulously trimmed and eyes bright. He looked good in grease-stained jeans and black t-shirt with the arc reactor shining through a cut-out hole in the chest. "Great," Steve said. He reached his hand out, on impulse. Tony shied back with a quick swerve, as if he just happened to be moving at that moment. 

Tony waved at Steve. "Come down," he said, gesturing to a set of steps Steve hadn't noticed, off to the side and discreet compared to everything else. He said something else Steve couldn't quite catch. "Easy dog hair." That couldn't be right. Steve frowned. Tony rolled up his eyes in an exasperated gesture, and then pointed back at the window. Steve turned back. The window blue words now said, "It'll be easier to talk there. You'll see. Come on."

So Steve followed Tony down the stairs. He still hadn't seen anyone else, which was weird and it was making him uneasy for reasons he couldn't put a finger on.

 

The stairs ended at a set of glass doors. Really, did Tony have a glass fetish? Tony tapped out a code which Steve couldn't help seeing. Since he'd gone deaf, he'd learned to watch people more closely. They went through the doors and into what Steve realized was the place where Tony really lived. There was the organized clutter of tools and storage, yes, but there was also a desk with dirty coffee mugs and open books, and even a few photographs not taken for artistic value, but for the people in them. He picked up one photo showing two people working on a car that looked identical to the flame-sided hot rod in front of him. The young man had Tony's eyes. "Your dad?" he asked, pointing at the other man in the picture.

Tony nodded. He said something fast, and then waved his hands. Blue words formed in the air over a flat table. "He's gone. Car accident a long time ago. Mom went with him." Tony made a face and his mouth and the words both moved really fast. "Anyway, long, long time ago. So, you didn't get your ears fixed? Not even the tinnitus? You know, Starkey is a subsidiary that handles stuff like that for veterans."

Steve shook his head. Ok, Tony didn't want to talk about his family. It wasn't as if Steve had yakked about his own parents. Some things don't get easier with time. "No. Didn't work. It doesn't bother me much, most of the time. Unless I talk about it." And right on schedule the buzzing was there, no louder, but annoying now that he was aware of it.

"Oops. Sorry about that. Hey, don't give up. There's great doctors in California. You can stay here, there's plenty of room, and you know, go the rounds, get whatever treatments the V.A. was too cheap to tell you about. I'm good for it."

"I don't need your charity, Tony," Steve said. He just, no. He wasn't dependent on anyone. He'd figure out his own life.

"Steve. I can't do anything for Jimmy or Linda. Let me help you."

Steve was surprised that Tony even knew the names of his unit. He frowned. "Spend your money on their families."

"Already did." Tony looked into Steve's eyes. "It's not charity. And it's not to try to make myself feel better. Nothing is going to make up for what my weapons did. It's... just... it's all I can do, Steve. Will you let me?"

Tony's eyes were huge, and Steve felt like he was being puppy-guilted. Damn. "All right." Steve threw his hands up in the air. "You win."

"Yes." Tony looked smug. "Let's have cheeseburgers to celebrate."

 

The mansion did have a lot of room, but Steve was surprised to find that there were no living quarters for servants. There were guest rooms, including four that were set aside for close friends of Tony's. One was his business partner, Obadiah Stane. One was his personal assistant, Pepper Potts. One was his chauffeur, Happy Hogan, and the last was his Air Force liaison, Colonel Rhodes. Steve had made more friends than that after a few days at the V.A. hospital. And his friends didn't get paid for associating with him.

That first night, as Steve unpacked and put his shaving gear in the bathroom adjoining the room he'd chosen he wondered, what if? What if he'd always been rich, would he have believed anyone liked him for who he was? What if he had valuable, and dangerous, secrets, would he have trusted people to get close to him? Steve hadn't told anyone about the suit, not even his commanding officers, maybe that was why Tony had invited him. Even though he still wouldn't let Steve touch him, he had let him wander around his garage workshop and look at the hologrammatic design for the new suit, which really, really, totally blew Steve away. Of course, he couldn't say that and inflate Tony's ego any further. "It'll never fly," he had said, solemnly, just to watch Tony wave his arms and bluster. 

The next morning Steve went down to the workshop, intending to start a discussion about the importance of Stark weapons to the US military. He figured to ease into it, gradually. He wasn't expecting to find Tony facing a tall, reddish blonde, woman, and the two of them carrying on an intense, rapid-fire conversation. He couldn't make out a single word. "JARVIS, Steve translate please," he said as Tony had told him to do, only Tony hadn't added the 'please'. The blue hologram frame appeared, but Tony and the woman had stopped talking.

They looked at Steve. The woman raised an eyebrow and looked at Tony. Tony said, "No! This is not what you're thinking, Pepper. This is Steve. He was with me in Afghanistan."

"Oh." Pepper's expression softened. "Steve, yes. I'm pleased to meet you. I'm Pepper Potts." She held out her hand.

Steve took her hand. The bones were delicate, and he was careful not to press hard. "Steve Rogers. It's a pleasure, ma'am."

"Ma'am?" Pepper's eyebrows rose again. "Pay attention, Tony. Steve is a gentleman, you could learn a great deal from him."

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, yeah. Think the board would stop being on my case if I was as sweet as Steve?"

"Probably not, so long as you keep the weapons division shut down," Pepper replied.

"That's actually what I meant to talk to you about, Tony," Steve said, seizing the opportunity. "I know you were upset that the Ten Rings had some of your weapons, but..."

"UPSET?" Tony backed away from Steve and Pepper. "You have no idea. They didn't just slip a few guns out of a crate. That didn't happen overnight. That was a huge, huge hole in security, whole shipments had to vanish without me hearing about them. It was only possible because I let control slip out of my fingers, because I was too busy to bother, too self-centered to follow up on things once they left the design board. It was on ME, all of it. Everyone who's died, or been maimed, or lost their homes, or their freedom, because of my weapons, it's all ME. And I can't make it right, but I can make it STOP!" Tony turned away from them, but JARVIS kept translating, so Steve saw him say, "That's it. It stops. Could we just... not talk about it, right now."

Steve and Pepper exchanged glances. "All right," Pepper said. "You know I'm on your side, Tony. Steve and I will go back upstairs and have a chat. I'd like to get to know him."

 

"So," Steve said after he and Pepper sat down on a couch facing one of Tony's 'smart glass' coffee tables, so JARVIS could continue to translate. It felt rude not looking at Pepper while they spoke, but this was too important a conversation to screw up. No matter how good he got at lip-reading, he was always going to have to guess a lot by context. "Tony. Eh."

Pepper threw her head back and laughed. Steve didn't need context for that. "Yes, that's Tony." She sighed. "It's not entirely Tony's decision, you know? The company is in his name, and he's the CEO, so he can give the order to stop production, and it's stopped, but that's not the end of it. What a disaster. I'm technically just his Personal Assistant, but he's given me access to all the executive functions he wasn't interested in-- which was all of them, really. So I know what goes on behind the scenes better than he does. The board will fight it, and Obadiah... has Tony mentioned Obadiah?"

Steve nodded.

"Obadiah Stane's been at S.I. forever. He was Howard Stark's partner, and from what Tony says, he was sort of an honorary uncle to Tony. He..." Pepper paused, as if thinking her words over carefully. "Well, he's a businessman, and this is hurting the bottom line. I'm just telling you all this because if you stay, you're going to be in the middle of a war zone." She winced, as if remembering she was speaking to a combat veteran.

Steve smiled. "I figured that. Tony's offered to let me stay because he feels guilty about me losing my hearing." Steve looked up then, into Pepper's eyes. "I want to stay because it's the right thing to do. Maybe I can talk Tony into resuming production, with stricter oversight. Maybe I can't, but just by being here, I can make him see there's more than one side to this situation. He might even talk to me."

Pepper patted Steve on the knee. He turned quickly to look at the table. "Good luck," she said, and then stood up. "I've got to go back to the office, to try to keep track of this train wreck. It's been good to meet you, Steve." 

Steve stood up and showed her out. Then he went back to the workshop. Tony had his back to him and was soldering something that looked very much like an armor-plated boot. Steve said, "Ms. Potts seems swell. She really cares about you, Tony."

Tony's shoulders shifted, but he didn't turn around as he spoke. JARVIS translated, "Yeah. Potts is swell. You're swell, too. I'm surrounded by swell."

Steve kept his temper. Tony mocked Steve's sometimes old-fashioned way of talking whenever he wanted to argue, but Steve wasn't letting him off that easily. "We just don't want you hurt."

"Yeah. I know." Tony turned to face Steve. He tapped his chest. "I swapped out the old reactor for this improved version. I couldn't... couldn't do it myself. My hands are too big. Pepper put her hand in my chest."

Steve felt his heart speed up and his throat went tight. _Pepper_ got to touch Tony. Why not him? What was wrong with Steve? He worked to calm himself, it was stupid to be jealous. Pepper had known Tony for years, of course he trusted her. 

"Pepper's a trooper." Tony grinned abruptly. "She made me promise not to make her do that again."

Steve didn't know what to say to that. His first impulse was to offer to do it himself, which was absurd. His hands were bigger than Tony's. Not that Tony would let him, anyway. So he didn't say anything. Tony fidgeted, and finally said, "Um, you know, about what Pepper was thinking when she saw you. I do have a thing for tall blondes, blonds, too." Steve thought JARVIS was very clever to be able to distinguish between two words that sounded exactly the same. "But, I promise you Steve, I'm not gonna make a move on you."

"You wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole, right." The words were thick in his chest. Suddenly Steve had enough. He didn't know why he bothered. Tony wasn't going to listen to him, not even when it was for his own good. He turned and went back up the stairs, keeping his gaze away from any glass. He didn't want to know what Tony was saying right now.

Tony didn't follow him; that was good. Steve wandered around the house, and found a gym. There was a boxing ring, but no weight bags, so he settled for doing lifts. There was a wide selection of bars and weights. He couldn't help thinking that was how Tony had developed his chest and arms and maybe he'd put his hands on the bar Steve was using. Steve nearly dropped the bar. What was with his obsession with touching Tony? Just because he couldn't do it, maybe? He'd always reacted to being told 'no' by fighting harder. 'No, you can't play with the other kids.' 'No, you can't go out in the snow.' 'No, you can't be a soldier.' This was more of the same thing, that's all.

When he managed to wear himself out, he tidied up the gym and returned to his room. After a shower and a change of clothes he felt more settled. He'd come here without a plan, which was stupid. He should do his homework. "JARVIS, what information can you give me on Stark Industries?" Jarvis replied with green lettering, instead of blue, which Steve took to mean that was JARVIS's own 'voice'.

 

The next morning Steve discovered he had a series of doctor's appointments. JARVIS had informed him of them the moment he woke up, after telling him the weather and the suitability of the waves for surfing. That had put a picture in Steve's mind of Tony in Speedos on a surfboard. He'd carried the mental image with him into the shower. It helped his morning wank session immeasurably. Ok, fine, so he had a little crush on the unobtainable Mr. Stark. 

He helped himself to breakfast, and as a silent apology, made extra waffles and coffee for Tony. JARVIS said he was in the workshop and hadn't yet eaten, so it seemed like a good idea. Tony looked up as Steve entered the code into the doors at the bottom of the stairs, and frowned, but he didn't protest when Steve entered.

"Waffles," Steve said without preamble and dropped them on the nearest free table space.

"Thanks," JARVIS interpreted for Tony. "So, is this a bribe? I'm easy, you know," Tony said around a mouthful of waffle. "You had me at coffee."

Steve grinned. "I know." Tony hadn't complained about much in Afghanistan, but he had bitched over the lack of coffee. It was easier to miss unimportant things. Steve sat on a nearby stool while Tony ate. "Just wanted to make an appearance before I go."

"Go?" Tony looked up, and seemed upset for a moment. "Oh. Yeah, JARVIS set you up with some good docs."

"Yeah." Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "About that..."

Tony waved a fork at him. "You agreed!"

"I'm going, I'm going! But I don't think I've got time to call a cab, so I was wondering how I'm going to get there."

"Oh. Hell, Happy's with Pepper today. They have a thing. They think I don't know. I hate to spoil it for them." Tony frowned. "Can you drive? I mean, since... have you driven?"

"Yes, Tony, deaf people can legally drive in the US." Steve refrained from rolling his eyes.

"Don't you need, like special stuff to tell you what's going on?" Tony actually seemed to be interested in him, so Steve didn't just give him a glib answer.

"There are things I could get, yeah. Panoramic mirrors to increase the view, light up panel to alert for certain sounds, maybe other things, but I don't need them. I stay alert. I'm fine."

"Ok, good. Which one do you want?" Tony waved to indicate the millions of dollars worth of vehicles, including what looked suspiciously like a miniature airplane with folded up wings. "Keys are in them."

Steve blinked. "Um." Tony looked at him, expectantly. Steve finally pointed towards a motorcycle as the least intimidating option. "How about that?"

Tony grinned. "Excellent choice. There's a helmet in the saddlebag." He tilted his head. "I'd offer you a jacket, but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't fit."

"I'll use my flight jacket. If you're sure?" Steve walked over to the motorcycle and admired it. He didn't recognize the name, but he sure recognized the quality.

"Go for it, Cap."

 

Riding the motorcycle was a joy. Visiting the doctors was not. He spent the day undergoing more kinds of tests than he knew existed. He even got fitted for tinnitus canceling hearing aids, which didn't do a thing. They said they'd send the results later after they were analyzed, and none of them actually dismissed him as psychosomatic, but he did have to fill out a lot of questionnaires about stress, so he could see what they were thinking. He'd seen the same look on the V.A. doctors plenty of times. 

On the way back he stopped off at an 'In-N-Out' to test the 'secret menu' JARVIS had given him at Tony's insistence. Root beer float, Animal Style fries (cheese, grilled onions and Thousand Island spread), and a 4X4 (4 burger patties and 4 slices of cheese). It was pretty good. He got a to-go bag of the same for Tony. It was only polite. After all, Tony was busy, and he didn't have anyone to cook for him. Steve hadn't seen any household staff. The more he thought about it, the odder that seemed. More than odd. Disturbing.

Steve had to concentrate to keep his mind on the road on the way back. He drove straight up the ramp and into the workshop. If there was any security, he didn't notice it. Even if JARVIS had sounded an alarm, there wasn't so much as a garage door to deny access. He parked the motorcycle and gave it a reflexive pat before taking the to-go out of the saddlebag and walking over to the desk where Tony was typing away. "Hey, Tony. Dunno if the float is still cold, but the burger's definitely warm."

Tony looked up at him and smiled. Steve's breath caught. Man, he had it bad. "Thanks, Steve. Could you... put it down over there?" Tony pointed to a clear patch on a table. 

The 'no-touch' rule was getting really annoying. Huh, maybe Tony had noticed Steve _noticing_ him and it made him uncomfortable? But that wouldn't account for it. Tony had started this back when Steve still thought of Tony as a pain. Steve put the food down.

"How'd it go?" Tony asked as he skidded his desk chair over to the table and opened the bag to inspect the contents. "All right. The bribery may continue." 

"It went all right." Steve shrugged and leaned on the table safely out of arms' reach. "They'll send the results later." He waited until Tony had eaten a few bites and was relaxed. "Be hotter if you had a live-in cook."

Tony made a dismissive gesture before washing a mouthful of fries down with a slurp of float. "It's overrated. You know, you feel like you have to dress up for breakfast, and most of the time I don't want anything fancy." Tony grinned at Steve. "Would you really want waffles with foie gras for breakfast?"

"Probably not." Steve took off the helmet, and ran a hand through his hair. Tony stopped eating to watch him. "I was thinking I'd take a swim in your pool if you don't mind. But then, I remembered I don't have a suit, and I don't want to shock the maids."

Tony blinked. "Yeaaah, that would... but no worries, there are no maids. The cleaners come on Thursday. Feel free to let it all hang out!"

"Think I'll take you up on the offer. The skinny dip, not the goose liver." Steve put the helmet up and left the workshop.

 

Steve enjoyed the swim. He enjoyed it even more after he caught sight of Tony peeking from one of the upstairs windows. So, Tony at least liked to look at him. Steve had a good time, showing off, swimming until he was tired, but he kept thinking about Tony's empty, and vulnerable, house. When he finally gave up and returned to his room, he asked JARVIS as he dressed, "Did Tony always live alone here? I mean, he's rich, I expected maids, cooks, gardeners, butlers and bodyguards. Rich folks always have their bodyguards, don't they?"

"In the past, there were such individuals," JARVIS replied.

"Huh." Steve rooted around and found his shoes under the bed. "What happened?"

The room light flickered. Steve turned to see Tony standing in the doorway. "Afghanistan happened. If I'm a target, fine, maybe I deserve it, but I'm not paying anyone else to die for me."

Steve didn't say anything. After a moment, Tony nodded and walked away. "Tony needs protection, JARVIS," Steve said. "Mostly from himself."

 

 

"Hey," Tony said, a few hours later, leaning into Steve's room with a mildly apologetic look on his face. "I'm testing part of the new suit. Wanna watch?"

Steve shut his laptop, and stood up. "Sure. What are you going to test, the strength?"

"No, flying."

Steve's chin jerked up. "That didn't work so well last time."

"This, this is entirely different! Perfectly safe. Mostly."

"You have totally reassured me," Steve said as he followed Tony down stairs.

"Ok, I've got DUM-E on fire safety, and U to record," Tony said. He stomped backwards, wearing metal boots that clunked, until he was almost hitting one of the tall steel tool cabinets. He was holding metal handles and had a whole series of wires hooking everything up to the arc reactor. Steve didn't think it looked safe at all.

"Tony, this... have you really thought this out?" Steve said. "You're going to try to fly in _here_? And a robot with a fire extinguisher is your idea of safety precautions?"

Tony made a face at Steve. "Don't be a party pooper, Steve. Rhodey wouldn't help me."

"I'll help you, sure I will, but this. This is not safe."

"Sure, it is, it's fine. Watch. You, roll it. Activate hand controls." And then Tony wiggled his ass, practically dancing, and Steve froze, mesmerized by the sight. Tony said, "See, it's fine. Start off nice and easy. We're gonna see if 10% thrust capacity achieves lift. And three, two, one." Tony blasted up in the air, doing a backflip, crashing face-first into the wall fifteen feet in the air, and then slamming to the ground behind the tool chest. The robot immediately sprayed foam on him.

"TONY!" Steve yelled. He ran around the tool chest, pushing at the robot to get it out of his way.

Tony rolled over and screamed, "DON'T TOUCH ME!" 

Steve skidded to a halt."You're hurt. Please. Let me..."

"No. I can't. I won't." Tony scrabbled backwards, proving his injuries were minor, but his panic was real enough.

This was breaking Steve's heart. "You won't what, Tony?"

"You know." Tony stopped trying to get away only when his back hit the wall. "You always knew. But I can't!"

"Tony. You think we're soul mates, don't you?" Steve had tried so hard to convince himself that wasn't the pull he felt, but it took nothing to make him realize the truth.

Tony took a deep breath and nodded his head. "I knew when I woke up in the cave. It's just... it's not for me. I just can't."

"What are you afraid of?" Steve ached to pull Tony into his arms, but his soul mate was afraid of him. He couldn't see any of JARVIS's glass, but he didn't need it. For once he could lip-read every word. 

"In Afghanistan I was afraid they'd kill you." Tony slumped. "The loss is worse if it's the full bond, you know?"

"Yeah, that's what they say. But we're safe now."

Tony let his head fall back against the wall. "You are. But I finally know what I have to do. And it's not gonna be safe, not safe at all. I'm selfish and it's hard. Really hard for me to give anything up. If I had you, really had you, I couldn't do what I need to do."

"Tony, I was a soldier, I understand duty. I understand sacrifice. That's no reason we have to deny ourselves everything, just because it might not be forever."

"I don't know you, but I know myself. If you asked me to give up everything for you once we bonded, I would. It's hard to stop even now."

"Jesus, Tony, why do you make everything so difficult? Why do you have to invent obstacles in the future?"

"Can't help it. I'm wired that way." Tony gave Steve a small smile. He looked ridiculous, dripping with foam and wired up like a toy robot. Steve's chest went tight with hopeless affection.

"You're an idiot."

"It's been said." Tony got up, slowly. "I'm just shaken, not stirred. I underestimated the output. Next time, I'll start at 1%."

Steve shook his head. Just his luck to get a stubborn son of a bitch for a bond mate. It's not like Steve was ever determined to do the right thing whatever it cost, right? He sighed. Tony was at least not sending Steve away. He'd wear him down eventually. If Tony didn't kill himself first through stupidity. "Can you at least wear a helmet?"

 

They tacitly agreed not to tell anyone they were bond mates. It would have been harder to hide, but Pepper and Happy were so taken up with each other that they were just glad Steve was around to keep Tony company and give them more time together. Stane came by once, but all he cared about was the business, as Pepper had warned. He had glanced at Steve and dismissed him immediately. And then he tried to bribe Tony with pizza. Steve decided he didn't like Stane at all, and it wasn't _entirely_ because the man was too damn handsy with Tony, squeezing his shoulders and hugging and acting like he owned Tony. 

Not entirely. But it didn't help.

 

"I do not need a helmet," Tony said. He was wearing a lot more metal this time, struts on his lower legs and arms, with repulsors on his hands as well as his boots.

"Sure you don't." Steve put the motorcycle helmet down on the table between them. "I mean, you've got so many brains you can afford to lose a few."

"Fine, fine." Tony grabbed the helmet and put it on. DUM-E 'wheeped' (which JARVIS translated for Steve as 'Good'.) Tony gave DUM-E a stern look. "Don't encourage Steve. He'll be putting me in bubble wrap next."

"Oh, there's an idea. Just make the suit a little bigger to fit it in."

"And paint it white, and call myself Michelin Man." Tony stomped over to his take off zone, and directed the robots to be ready. 

"One percent!" Steve said. "Follow the plan!"

"Yes, mother." 

Steve's heart was in his throat. Tony fired the repulsors, and teetered several feet up in the air before he clomped back to the ground. "Well, that was anticlimactic. Two point five percent." And before Steve could protest, there was Tony hovering raggedly in the air. 

"Correct your angle!" Steve said. "Get your feet under you. Use your hands!"

"Not the car! Not the car!" Tony yelped as he drifted over the row of cars, which Steve had wanted to move, but 'Noooo, Steve, no, I'm ready now'. 

"Don't worry about the damn cars! Keep your head in the game!" Steve paced alongside the cars. "You fall and I'm going to catch you, you know that!"

"Threats! I feel threatened, Steve!" But Tony was grinning. Steve could see him relax and stop overcorrecting like a neophyte pilot. "We're fine. Ok." He moved back to the start, rotated slightly, and cut off the power, dropping the last foot or so. DUM-E raised the fire extinguisher. "AH AH AH!" Tony waved at the 'bot until it drooped with a sad 'wheep' (which JARVIS told Steve meant, 'I never have any fun'.) Tony turned to Steve. "I can fly," he said. "Yeah."

"Yeah, you can fly." Steve wanted to hug Tony so bad.

Tony looked at Steve, and cleared his throat (JARVIS was very good about describing non-speech for Steve). "Well, that's that. Now we just need to polish the fuselage, test the fit, kick the tires. You know."

 

 

"God damn it, Tony," Steve said when 'house JARVIS' dutifully translated Tony's asinine 'gotta run before you can walk' remark, and the suit took off, taking his bond mate with it. He ran outside to watch Tony blast up into the night sky. It was beautiful, a pilot's dream come true, a combination of speed and agility and power like nothing that ever had been. And Tony was inside it, and about as careful as a kid with a cheap kite on a windy day. He watched until Tony was lost to his sight, and then he ran back in and had 'house JARVIS' link to the 'suit JARVIS' to tell him what was happening.

"Jesus, Tony. It's a testing flight! You don't try to break the high altitude record with an unproven machine!" Steve wanted to wring Tony's neck. If only his neck was here, back safe. He 'listened' to Tony ignoring JARVIS's warnings. And then there was an end to the messages scrolling over the glass.

"JARVIS? JARVIS! What's the suit status?"

"Unknown at this time. I am unable to secure a connection."

Steve stood there, fists clenched, furious and frightened and frustrated. The seconds ticked by. And then there was a description that could only mean that Tony had let out a whoop of pure glee. 

"Communication has been restored," JARVIS told Steve. "There was a malfunction due to high altitude icing."

"Is Tony coming back?" 

"Sir's route would indicate so, sir."

"I'm going to kill him for scaring me."

"I quite understand, sir."

Steve turned, expecting to see Tony swoop in through the ramp. He jumped back when Tony fell through the ceiling and landed on the blue and white race car in a shower of building materials and what looked like pieces of the piano. DUM-E squirted him with foam. Tony lifted the armor's head and then sank back in a gesture of defeat.

"Are you all right, Tony?" Steve asked.

Tony raised his right hand to circle his thumb and forefinger in the 'Ok' sign.

"Hit him again, DUM-E."

 

Tony sat at his desk with an ice bag duct-taped to his shoulder, while working to correct the faults in the suit. "You know," he told Steve, "I could make you a suit of your own. Once I get the bugs worked out of this one."

"I'd like that." Steve could fly with Tony. Could maybe watch his back, and at least, he'd be there when Tony did something reckless.

"Have to adapt the controls. You're a pilot, you could figure out a lot of it, but there isn't room in the HUD for dialog and sometimes JARVIS needs to tell the pilot something not covered in the normal panels."

"Like 'you're icing up'?"

Tony gave Steve a dirty look. "You're not going to forget that little glitch, are you?"

"No. You were almost killed, pointlessly and avoidably. At least one of us ought to learn from the experience."

Tony didn't say anything for over a minute. Then he shrugged. "This is why I don't want us to complete the bond. I've got a purpose now, but I haven't changed, not really. I'm going to keep on being Tony Stark, just... I'm trying, but I can't promise I won't crash and burn spectacularly. It's what I do."

For someone with an ego the size of Manhattan, Tony was ridiculously pessimistic. "It doesn't have to be what you do. You can be more than that."

"Rhodey said that, too." Tony shifted in his seat. "Of course he was drunk at the time."

Steve was tired of dealing with Tony's issues. There were enough of them to fill the Library of Congress. He couldn't help loving Tony, but at the same time, the urge to shake him until his teeth clattered was very strong. He turned his attention to the TV, which was running closed captioned, even on things that weren't broadcast that way. JARVIS was great.

When the announcer at the Stark funded benefit said that Tony was rumored to be bedridden and suffering from PTSD, Steve saw Tony straighten. "I've got to go, Steve."

"It's only rumors."

"The board already thinks I have post-traumatic stress."

Honestly, Steve agreed with them. But then, he figured he had it, too. "What does it matter what they think?" JARVIS had informed him that Tony and Stane owned the controlling shares between them, with Tony having the majority. 

"They have options if enough of them agree that the CEO is off the tracks. They can throw up a lot of roadblocks. JARVIS," Tony said while looking at the render he'd requested before he and Steve started talking, "that's a little ostentatious, don't you think?"

"I don't know," Steve said, looking at the rotating image of a shiny gold suit. "It reminds of the Harry and David gold-wrapped pear, you know, only one in each box gets that honor."

Tony blinked. "Ok, yeah, no." Tony shook his head. He pointed at the old roadster. "Throw a little hot-rod red in there, JARVIS."

"Yes, that should help you keep a low profile. The render is complete," JARVIS replied. Steve wondered if JARVIS sounded as snippy as he imagined. Knowing Tony, the answer was probably 'yes'.

"Hey, I like it. Fabricate it. Paint it," Tony told JARVIS.

"Commencing automated assembly. Estimated completion time is five hours."

"Don't wait up for me, honey," Tony said.

"Was that for me, or JARVIS?"

Tony turned to smirk at Steve. "Yes."

 

Steve watched the news, with JARVIS bringing up any mention of the Firefighter's Family Fund benefit. Tony looked wonderful in a midnight blue tux, as Steve knew first hand. He had considered asking to accompany Tony as his plus-one, but it would have been awkward. It wasn't so much his deafness that would be a problem, as the fact that he had nothing suitable to wear to a fancy event. Also, you know, that Tony hadn't acknowledged Steve as his bond mate. There was no way it wouldn't be extremely awkward, and would interfere with Tony's attempt to put on a good public show for the board. So he watched the TV and saw Tony emerge from the building only a few minutes after he went in. Tony went to Stane who was being interviewed about S.I.'s future. There was no sound, but the light was on them. Steve read their lips. Gulmira. Gulmira, that was where Yinsen was from. What? Double-dealing? Steve stood up and moved closer to the TV. Stane smirked, just a little, and told Tony he had filed an injunction locking Tony out.

Steve punched the TV because he couldn't punch Stane.

 

"You're not a soldier, you've said that yourself," Steve told Tony. Tony had come home in a rage, and only the fact that the suit wasn't complete had kept him from flying off immediately. The last pieces had finished fabricating a few minutes ago, though, and none of Steve's arguments had swayed Tony in the least.

Tony finished tightening a screw on the gauntlet he was wearing and flexed his armored fingers. "Yinsen's home was in Gulmira."

"There are other ways. At least stop and come up with a reasonable plan!"

"I have a plan." Tony whirled and fired the repulsor, shattering the glass door by the stairway. He turned back to Steve. "I can do this, Steve. Are you going to try to stop me?"

Steve let his hands drop to his sides. "No. Just... keep in contact with JARVIS. Keep a cool head. Listen to me. Let me give you the benefit of my experience."

Tony smiled. "All right. What do you suggest?"

"Your advantages are surprise and speed, but you'll be vastly outnumbered and you know they have Stark weaponry. Don't linger or showboat. Decide what your targets and objective will be before you arrive, and stick to those objectives. Eat carbs and go to the bathroom before you leave. Wear extra socks."

"What?"

Steve gave Tony a small smile. "My dad was a foot soldier."

 

The day seemed to last forever. House-JARVIS kept in touch with suit-JARVIS but Steve didn't try giving Tony any more advice. Tony had enough to think about, and far too long in which to do it. He just watched the monitors. House-JARVIS kept a running scroll of Tony's interaction with suit-JARVIS, but Tony was uncharacteristically silent most of the time. It was a long journey, and he hadn't made provision for drinking, so it was only sensible not to dry his throat out.

Steve talked about little things, things so inconsequential he didn't remember what he said a few minutes later. He didn't say that he loved Tony or that he wanted him to be careful. He talked about good places to buy pizza in Brooklyn and why he thought dogs were better pets than cats. He told Tony his favorite movies, and his favorite songs. He told him he liked to draw.

He said he liked to read adventure stories. 

 

The fight, Steve couldn't really call it a battle, was over in a few minutes. Steve started to relax. Then the US Air Force went for Tony, and damn it, Steve should have seen that coming, he should have known! Of course the suit would read as a UAV, a drone, and a new type at that, with unknown potential, possibly hostile, entering an active war zone. His mind was at full alert now and he cast about for anything he could do. There had to be something!

Tony talked to Rhodes, but he _lied_ , by God, he lied, playing games with the US Air Force. Steve had enough. "Patch me through, JARVIS," Steve said. "Colonel Rhodes."

"Who is this?" Colonel Rhodes snapped.

"Captain Rogers, sir. We met in Afghanistan. Sir, please call off the raptors. That _is_ Stark tech. It's experimental, and off course. Tony just doesn't want to admit he made a mistake."

There was a pause, then Rhodes replied, "Tony? Is what this man said true? Did you send civilian equipment into my active war zone?"

Tony said, "Um. Sort of? It's totally under control. I just want to bring this baby home in one piece. You know, I did ask you to come by and see what I was working on."

"No, no, no, I do not need to know that. Major!" Rhodey said, apparently talking to someone else. "It's one of ours! Escort only! Escort it out of the war zone!" Then Rhodes said, "Thank you, Captain."

"Thank you, Colonel," Steve replied, watching the monitors. He slumped on the couch. "JARVIS, I need to punch something."

"I have taken the liberty of ordering a punching bag and stand for the gymnasium. It will be delivered within the hour."

"Get extras. I think I'm going to need them."

 

Steve tried to help the bots remove Tony's armor, without him touching any forbidden skin. It wasn't working well, and Tony kept squirming and bitching. 

"STOP IT!" Steve said, and he was pretty sure he shouted. "THE MORE YOU STRUGGLE THE MORE IT'S GOING TO HURT!"

The lights flickered, JARVIS's signal to get Steve's attention. He looked at the nearest pane of glass. "Are those bullet holes?" he read. Oh, crap. Steve had totally forgot that Pepper would be coming to the mansion. 

He turned to look at her. She was standing in the opening of the shattered glass door. A purse-size container of pepper spray was in her right hand and her eyes were wide, wide open.

Tony looked over his shoulder and teetered. The 'bots kept tugging at him. "This isn't what it looks like, Pep. Pep? Were you gonna pepperspray Steve?"

Pepper flushed, and her hand dropped to her side. "It wouldn't be the first time you got in over your head!" She turned to Steve. "Sorry." Then she whirled back to face Tony. "You're trying to distract me! What WERE you DOING?"

"Um. Long story, and you know... I've been in the suit for over ten hours and I haven't got it set up with a waste reclamation system yet. So, could we have this conversation later?" 

"Oh, God!" Pepper threw her hands up in the air. "I'm going up and I'm making myself a martini. A big one. Maybe a pitcher." She stomped up the stairs.

 

By the time Tony got out of the armor and attended to pressing needs in the workshop facilities, Pepper had indeed made a pitcher of martini and drunk quite a lot of it. There was an empty jar of olives on the table next to her martini glass. "STEVE!" Pepper greeted him when he walked up the stairs. "Come and sit next to me." She patted the couch. "I want to talk to someone sensible." She was enunciating with painful clarity so Steve made out most of what she said without looking at the glass table.

Steve glanced at the pitcher. "Can I get you a glass of water?"

"Not for me, thanks." She patted the couch again and Steve sat down. Tony came up the stairs and looked at Pepper. His eyebrows raised, and he grinned. Pepper lifted her chin and looked at Steve, ignoring Tony. "Let's talk about something that isn't Tony. I want to pass the Bechdel test." 

For that, Steve did have to read the table. "Don't you need two women for that?"

"Oh, that's right. Well, still. Let's talk about... ART! Tony says you're an artist. Oh, wait. I failed the Bechdel test! Damn." She leaned against Steve. "Damn it, Steve. Tony always makes me lose the Bechdel test."

Awkwardly, Steve patted her on the back.

Pepper burped. 

 

Pepper complained about Tony messing up her schedules and not signing paperwork, skipping board meetings and bribing her with shoes, very nice shoes, but still, bribes. Steve kept patting her on the back, while Tony leaned against the wall and snickered, apparently not loud enough for Pepper to hear, because she kept on. She complained about his pickiness with hair products, and his love of greasy fast food. Tony grinned. She complained about his handwriting and his puppydog eyes. Along about this time, JARVIS began having difficulty deciphering her words, probably because she was muffled against Steve's chest. 

After a minute or so went by with no writing on the table, Steve gently shook her shoulder. "Ms. Potts? Pepper?" He tilted her back so he could see her face. Her eyes were shut. "Um. Yeah." He got up carefully, easing her down onto the couch. "Do you think we should leave her there, Tony?"

"Probably not." Tony came forward and took off Pepper's shoes. "But in case she wakes up, maybe you'd better be the one carrying her. You're her girlfriend."

"I just have that kind of face." Steve picked Pepper up. "People confide in me. I don't know why. Get her purse."

"Yeah." Tony picked up the purse and slung it over his arm. "I'm a little insulted that she carries pepper spray. S.I. has a line of self-defense products that don't rely on _food_."

"Maybe she just liked the name." Steve followed Tony to Pepper's room, and laid her down on the bed. 

Instead of leaving after he put the purse down on the nightstand and leaned the shoes against it, Tony frowned down at Pepper who had turned on her side and cuddled a pillow to her chest. He tapped against his arc reactor.

"What?" Steve asked, turning to watch Tony's mouth. There wasn't any smart glass in view, but he could read Tony easier than anyone else.

"I was thinking. You know, it was a long, boring flight, and I was thinking. There was way, way, too much of my stuff in the Ten Rings' hands. I mean. How the hell did they get it, and it not even show as missing? It's not like anyone could walk out of the factory with a missile in their lunch bag."

Steve nodded. "Someone was covering up the losses from inside."

"Yeah." Tony's mouth screwed up in disgust. "I need to find the bad apple in the barrel, but S.I.s records are kept on an internal server with no links to the outside. JARVIS can't reach them. I need direct access to one of the S.I. top line computers. There's only a handful of them, and the only one I'm sure won't have anyone sitting in front of it is in my office."

Steve didn't think it would be that easy. "But there's the injunction against you." 

"Right. Now, I could bully my way in, easy enough, but that would warn whoever this is, and give them a chance to clean up, possibly even get one last shipment out. So, I was thinking, Pepper could go in and get it, but now she's pissed off at me about a few measly bullet holes and she's gonna wake up with a hangover and..."

"And you don't want to wait." Steve didn't catch every word, but he got the gist of it. Tony's expressive body language filled in a lot. "You never want to wait."

"No. No, I don't." Tony sighed. "I'd ask Obie, but he's all 'let me protect you, my boy'. He'd probably just bury the evidence and take care of the leak himself. I have to know. I have to know who's done this."

"I wish I could help."

"Maybe. Maybe you can." Tony looked thoughtful. "Let's go down to the shop and talk about it."

 

Steve thought the plan was more than a little thin. He got off the motorcycle, and ineffectively tried to pull down the hem of his shirt. He was wearing a Stark Industries t-shirt,--Tony's, which was simultaneously horrible and wonderful. It had touched Tony!-- and a confused look, when he approached the entrance of the S.I. headquarters. The shirt was several sizes too small, which Tony said was a good thing, and the confused look wasn't terribly hard to fake when the woman at the door rattled something off too fast for him to catch. "Uh," Steve said, "Tony... I mean, Mr. Stark... he said he left his favorite sunglasses in his office." He stood there with his hands hanging at his sides, and pretended not to understand anything the woman was saying. "I'm sorry, what? I'm deaf. My name is Steve Rogers, and I was with Tony in Afghanistan." Steve shrugged and did a few chest flexes, which was embarrassing, but Tony thought it would help.

The woman's eyes went to his chest, and then back up to his face.

"So, can I, uh, go up and get them? Tony's been awful nice to me, awful nice. I don't want to disappoint him. You can call him, if you want." He held out his StarkPhone. "It's on Speed Dial 1, under 'Daddy'." Steve didn't have to fake the blush, either. "Tony thought that was funny."

The woman took the phone and spoke into it. She nodded after a moment, and handed it back to Steve. She held up her hand in the universal 'Wait' gesture. Steve fidgeted internally, while trying to retain his 'gentle giant idiot' expression. More than a few people equated his deafness with stupidity, and for once that might work in his favor. 

Yep. The woman handed him a map of the building, with the route to Tony's office drawn in red pen and the office circled. Straight ahead, up one flight of stairs, at the end of a corridor. Wow, she must really think he was an imbecile. He nodded and took the paper. "Thank you." She leaned close to clip a visitor's badge on his shirt. "Um, yes. Thank you." Steve got away from her as quickly as possible.

 

Steve shut the office door behind him, tossed the sunglasses he'd brought with him onto the desk, turned on the computer and slipped in the special gadget Tony had given him. He didn't know enough about computers to mess around, so Tony had set the thing to work automatically. Icons of files and folders appeared in place of the screen saver of Tony's car collection, but Steve watched the door instead. When it opened, he leaned down to get the glasses and then waved them in the air. "Got them." 

Obadiah Stane stood in the doorway, frowning at him.

"Oh, hi, Mr. Stane. Tony sent me to get his sunglasses." He hooked the eyeglasses into the neck of his shirt, and grinned at Stane.

Stane didn't buy the idiot act. He strode over to the computer. "What are you doing?" 

Just then the gadget finished, flickering the screen to announce the fact, and Steve snatched it off the computer. "Tony also sent me to get this."

"Give that to me," Stane said.

"No. No, see, this belongs to Tony. He authorized me to get it, and that's just what I'm doing."

"I'm calling security," Stane reached for a button on the desk.

Steve punched Stane, knocking him to the floor. He should have felt bad about it, but he really didn't. "I don't like how you treat Tony," he said. He pocketed the gadget and left the room at a good stride, not quite running. He hadn't hit Stane hard enough to keep him down for long, but he didn't need very long.

He smiled at the woman at the door as he left. "Thanks! I got 'em! Tony will be pleased!" He flexed his fingers and mentally replayed the punch to Stane's face as he hopped on the motorcycle and sped off. He had really enjoyed that.

He didn't enjoy the traffic jam he got stuck in due to not knowing the area well enough. He'd thought it was a short cut. He wove in and out and probably got honked at a lot. He definitely got his fair share of single-digit salutes. California drivers were as rude as New York City ones, he decided. But less skillful. Finally he got past the thundering herd and found a place he could pull over to make a phone call. 'Daddy' would be concerned by now. He hit speed dial. "Tony." He waited a breath, but no text showed. "Tony? Are you there? Hello?" And then the connection cut. Steve stared at the phone. Something was wrong. 

He turned the motorcycle back on and shoved the phone in his pocket. Maybe he should call Rhodey, or 911, but what if it was just some kind of glitch in his phone? He could have broken it when he punched Stane. Tony was trying to keep the armor secret. He was working on it when Steve left, fixing the dents from Gulmira. When he was concentrating, he never noticed people coming in, and now that the glass door was broken the emergency services people could walk right in and see the armor. 

The road was empty. Tony said this bike was a custom job. He didn't say what the top speed was. Steve was going to find out. He wasn't far from the house. 

Maybe he couldn't fly, but he could give it a damn good try.

 

"TONY!" Steve shouted, driving the bike right up the ramp into the shop and then running up the stairs. "TONY!" He saw Tony slumped on the couch. Oh, god, what if he had a heart attack, if the reactor stopped working, what if... He reached the couch, all his attention fixed on Tony. Tony was lying there with a gaping hole in his chest, blood dripping from his ears, and his skin was gray. His eyes were alive, and moved from Steve to the side, widening, as if he was trying to warn Steve.

A hand grabbed his shoulder. He turned and saw Stane standing there with blue-glowing earplugs and a smug grin that faded as Steve turned on him. He had a small gadget in his hand. He aimed it at Steve, trying to stick in his ear, it looked like. Steve batted it out of his hand and punched him, a hell of a lot harder than he had at S.I. He didn't spare Stane a glance once he went down for the count. "Tony! What do I do? JARVIS!"

All the glass surfaces in the room lit up. "Replace the arc reactor."

He looked around and saw a metal briefcase, the only foreign item in sight. He opened it and took out the reactor. "How..." He turned it over; it looked simple enough, magnetic and bayonet mount. "Tony, I'm going to have to touch you."

Tony looked at him, and didn't look away. Steve took that for acceptance of the necessity. He lined up the reactor and put it in as gently as he could. He previously had no idea how deep it went. He must be almost touching Tony's heart. He certainly was touching the rough scar tissue on Tony's chest. It went in with a click, and he sighed.

A click? Steve cleared his throat. He heard it. He had _heard_ it. "Tony?" He heard his own voice. "Tony. God. Tony, I can hear!" He felt good. He felt better than good. He felt warmer than he'd been since the cave. He felt like he was seeing everything sharper, smelling everything better. No, it wasn't sharper or stronger, it was just... more complete. Like the difference between the flat world with one eye closed, and 3-D with both of them open. Like mono to stereo. "We're fully bonded." He tugged Tony up into a more comfortable position. "I'll call an ambulance." Tony blinked his eyes and held them shut, at the same time Steve felt a strong sense of wrong/no/negative that he couldn't put in words. "JARVIS, can you run a medical scan on Tony?" That would be faster. It wasn't as if Tony's mansion was in the middle of town.

"Yes. I have often had to do so for sir. I believe there is no need for alarm. The paralysis should last for no more than fifteen minutes." For the first time Steve heard JARVIS's voice and despite the seriousness of the situation he wanted to laugh at JARVIS's English butler accent.

Steve picked Tony up, and he smiled, smiled because he was touching Tony. The weight in his arms centered him, made him whole. "How do you know that?"

"The device was one of Mr. Stark's inventions. It was deemed unsuited for military applications, so it was never officially produced. Apparently Stane saved the prototype for personal use."

Steve wanted to kick Stane. That was just added sadism, using Tony's own invention against him. 

 

Once Steve was assured Tony would be all right, he carried Tony to the master bedroom. "I'm just going to secure Stane. I'll be right back." Tony made a jerky motion with his right hand. Steve took it and squeezed his fingers. "Don't worry."

He tied Stane up securely, wrists down to ankles so even crawling would be nearly impossible, but he didn't bother to gag him. He was still enjoying being able to hear, and he was curious to know what Stane sounded like. In his mind, he'd been giving the man the voice of Daddy Warbucks from an old movie.

He went back to Tony and started to sit on the bed, but then he felt the gadget he'd stuck in his back pocket. He pulled it out and showed it to Tony. "I got this from S.I. It's what you wanted, or Stane wouldn't have come after you. I'm sorry about that. I should have hit him harder." He touched Tony's chest. "I should have hit him a lot harder." He put the thing on the nightstand. He sat next to Tony. "I'm glad we're fully bonded. I'm sorry it had to happen this way. I wish you had the chance to say 'yes'."

Tony's hand waved again, and Steve took it. "I'm not going to ask you to give up anything. I am going to ask you to let me be at your side. Make me a suit, Tony. Just... not red and gold. Ok?"

Tony's mouth curved in a slight smile. "Yeah."

"Hey. Good to hear you." Steve thought Tony's voice was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

"Is it weird that I want you to kiss me?" Tony asked.

"No. No, it's not weird."

"I mean," Tony said, "here I am, practically helpless, I can barely move. You could do anything to me, anything at all." Tony's smile widened.

Steve raised his eyebrows. "Ok, that's a little weird. But I can work with it." He leaned down to kiss Tony, just a soft brush of lips at first. Tony's mouth opened. He tasted like coffee and something sharper, metallic. Steve couldn't imagine anyone else tasting like that, just his Tony. He opened his mouth wider and deepened the kiss. Tony made a noise, deep in his chest. His hand caught at Steve's shirt, pulling.

Steve went willingly. That shirt was too tight, anyway, and so were his trousers. Skin was the only thing that made sense. He moved away from Tony long enough to strip completely and fling everything to the floor. The shirt didn't survive. Tony pushed himself up on his elbows to watch Steve. He was still shaky, but his color was better, and he was definitely rising to the challenge.

"Yeah," Tony said, "Excellent bone structure. Awesome bone structure."

"It's too late to flatter me," Steve said. "I'm already yours."

"It's not flattery if it's true." Tony scrunched up his nose. "You, on the other hand, have acquired a..."

"You'd better not be saying bad things about my bond mate," Steve said. "I like him. I think he's swell."

Tony snickered. "I wouldn't call you a liar, Steve."

"The only thing wrong with him is that he isn't naked." 

"Well, that's easily remedied." Tony pulled off his own shirt. Steve made a mental note to destroy it because Stane had touched it. He would have to talk to Tony about getting rid of that couch, too. Tony kicked off his shoes, and Steve didn't have the patience to wait any longer. He unzipped Tony's trousers and pushed the red silk briefs underneath out of his way. Steve liked Tony in red. He liked him even better out of it.

Steve had been waiting a ridiculously long time for this. His plan for gentle seduction went straight out the window. There was Tony's dick, nice and hard, twitching against his belly. He swallowed it down with all the finesse of a starving man. Tony yelped, a high-pitched noise that amused Steve.

"OH MY GOD!"

Steve nearly bit Tony in his haste to turn around to locate the source of the scream. Pepper Potts stood in the doorway, barefoot, hair rumpled, and face so white her freckles stood out. "Uh. Ms. Potts," he said, hands down in an attempt to cover himself. Steve needed bigger hands.

"This is exactly what it looks like, Pepper!" Tony said cheerfully.

"Oh, my God," Pepper said again. She kept her eyes well above Steve's waist with what must be habit, because she looked far too upset to be doing anything deliberately. She pointed a wavering hand back towards the living room. "Tony, kinky is one thing, but Obadiah is unconscious and trussed up like a hog!"

"Really?" Tony asked Steve. His eyes widened in delight when Steve nodded. "Good."

"I couldn't take the chance of him getting away while we were....um... busy. We're bonded," Steve blurted out. "Oh, and I can hear now." He wasn't sure of the science behind it, but he didn't care. The doctors would probably say he was psychosomatically cured.

Pepper blinked twice. "Congratulations," she said.

"Obie's been behind the leak all along," Tony told her. "Steve got the evidence, but Obie saw him, and decided to swipe my arc reactor. I guess he figured it was his severance package."

Pepper blinked again. "Your arc reactor? The one in your chest?" Her voice rose with each word. "Excuse me, I have to go find my shoes."

"What?" Steve asked.

"I'm going to kick Obie's ass." She turned to walk away.

"Look by the nightstand," Tony called out, helpfully. "Ok, Steve, now where were we?"

"Somewhere about here, I think," Steve said, wrapping his hand around Tony's dick, which was still ready for action.

Pepper came back into the room. She was still rumpled, but her eyes were sharp. "Where's the evidence?"

"Pepppper!" Tony whined, "You're embarrassing me!"

Pepper rolled her eyes. "Please, this is hardly the worst thing I've caught you doing."

"Fine. You're embarrassing Steve!"

"He's your bond mate, he'll get used to being embarrassed."

Steve made a little protesting noise. "Not so much embarrassed, Ms. Potts, but y'know, I'd really like to have Tony's attention right now."

"Here!" Tony stretched his arm out and flailed around until he found the gadget, which he tossed to Pepper. "Will that be all, Ms. Potts?"

"That will be all, Mr. Stark." Pepper turned to Steve. "I recommend you lock the door."

Steve hurried to close and lock the door behind her, and then he pushed a chest of drawers against it. He listened against the door, but didn't hear any screams. Good enough.

"God, that woman," Tony said. "Her efficiency is amazing. I should make her C.E.O."

"Good idea," Steve said as he got back onto the bed, this time moving up far enough to kiss Tony. He moved his head to bite a line of rough kisses down Tony's throat and chest, working his way around the glow of the reactor.

"All... my ideas are excellent," Tony said, reaching down to dig his hands into Steve's waist. 

"Whose idea was it for us not to bond?" Steve licked a nipple and was pleased to discover the nerve bundles there were still functional.

"Ah! Got me, there. Everyone's entitled to one really big mistake."

"I forgive you," Steve said against Tony's chest, "this time. But don't lock me out again."

"No, no, I won't." 

"Good." Steve lined himself up and rubbed against Tony. "Come on, Tony. Come on."

"Yeah." Tony arched up against Steve. "This is good. Yeah. More."

Steve stopped talking, and concentrated on how good it felt, all hot skin and friction setting his nerves on fire. Tony kept babbling on, a confused mixture of moans, groans, giggles and outrageous promises. Steve didn't want the moon, or even his very own tropical island, just this, just Tony, just his bond mate, his other half. He would have loved Tony even if he wasn't gorgeous and brilliant and funny and... just...there, yes, so damn sexy. When Steve came it wasn't simultaneous fireworks and a chorus of heavenly angels, but it was better than that. 

It was real. Tony hadn't quite made it, so Steve reached down to lend a helping hand. It only took two strokes, before Tony shouted, "Yes!" and jerked up, coming into Steve's hand.

"Mmm, nice," Tony muttered. He wrapped his arms around Steve. "We should wash." He tightened his grip. "But I don't want to move."

"Yeah," Steve said. "Later." He rolled them sideways so there wasn't pressure on the arc reactor.

Tony shifted, cuddling closer. "'s funny," he murmured. "I never wanted to _sleep_ with anyone. Always thought it was suffocating, but this is nice."

Steve ran his hands up and down the line of Tony's back. "Yeah." Maybe later he'd think about all the other people who'd shared Tony's bed and be jealous. 

 

"Sir," JARVIS said an indeterminable while later. Steve was hungry, so more than a few minutes, but he wasn't starving, so less than a day.

"Yeah?" Tony said lazily. He was kissing his way across Steve's chest.

"Sir, a Phil Coulson from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division is requesting you speak with him."

"Yeah, yeah, tell him to make an appointment with Pepper. I'm busy."

"Sir," JARVIS said. "I'm afraid he insists."

"God, can't a man bond in peace?"

"Maybe you should talk to him, Tony?" Steve said.

"He just wants to talk about Afghanistan. He can wait."

JARVIS said, "Mr. Coulson says he can assist with Mr. Stane."

Tony stopped kissing Steve and sat up straight. "Shit."

"Oh. Yeah, we can't leave Stane lying on the floor forever," Steve said. "He might die," Steve added as an afterthought.

"Will you speak with him?" JARVIS asked.

"Yeah, I guess so. Gotta find out how he heard about Stane. Where'd I leave my phone?"

"Mr. Coulson is not on the telephone, sir," JARVIS said. "He is at the front door."

"You could have said that!" Tony grumbled.

They got up and dressed. Tony put on an several layers of shirts to cover up his reactor. Steve borrowed an AC/DC shirt, which was far too tight, of course. They left the room, hand in hand. 

Obie was still in the living room. He was conscious, and obviously furious, but since he was gagged with a gold and black patterned piece of fabric, Steve couldn't understand what he was trying to say. 

"You owe me a Hermes scarf," Pepper said. She was perfectly groomed and seemingly composed, sitting on the couch with a laptop open. "I couldn't listen to that filth any longer."

"Done," Tony said. "I agree, you'll have to burn that one."

"Are those the files I downloaded?" Steve asked, just to distract Tony from Stane.

Pepper nodded. "It's... it's worse than we thought. He's been siphoning off product and funds for years. I don't know how far back it goes, but at least since we moved from New York to California. But that's not the worst. Tony... he arranged the attack on the convoy."

"What?" Tony said. He looked blank. Steve tightened his grip on Tony's hand. 

"It makes sense," Steve said. "We were using humvees instead of properly armored vehicles because that route had never experienced more than sporadic sniper fire. We only used it for personnel transport. It wasn't an important enough military target to justify a full-scale assault. Unless they knew that convoy was different. Or they'd been paid to do it."

Tony visibly swallowed. "Sure. The economics of war. You don't expend that much ammo on spec."

Pepper's voice went soft. "There's a video. They recognized you and kept you alive because Obadiah hadn't told them he was after you in particular. He hadn't paid them enough for an assassination."

Tony shook his head. "Yeah. Right." He took a deep breath. "So. What do we do now? Turn him over to the police?"

"You don't want to do that, Mr. Stark." A tall bald man wearing a black leather coat and a matching eyepatch strode into the room, followed by a man wearing a neatly pressed gray suit.

"Who the hell are you?" Tony snapped.

"And what do you want?" Steve asked, bracing himself for trouble. He could tell that both of these men were combat trained, and dangerous.

The bald man rolled his eye. "Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm here to talk to you about the Avenger Initiative."

Steve didn't know what Fury was talking about, but it felt right. He tightened his grip on Tony's hand. "We're listening. Whatever we do, Tony and I, we do it as a team."

After a moment, Tony squeezed Steve's hand. "Yeah. What the captain said."

**Author's Note:**

> As Nizah in the optional details letter mentioned that they would enjoy a combination of their chosen AUs, I combined three of the ones they'd requested with the Steve/Tony pairing: Soul Mates, Different First Meeting, and Sense Impaired Character.
> 
> Also, these are Tony's [ red silk briefs.](http://www.essentialapparel.com/p/magic-silk-mens-silk-knit-hip-brief?gclid=CIC4wNfdmsYCFYIWHwodpZoAqA#50594)


End file.
